Metal Gear Solid: Patriot Games
by Mr. Wednesday
Summary: First off, this fic contains major spoilers to MGS 2. Chapter 4 is now uploaded! After the events in the end of MGS 2, Snake finds himself on a trail of tyranny and lies. R+R!
1. Prologue: After The Fact

Journal Entry 020 

_5.03.14_

_It's been three days since Arsenal crashed into the federal building. The cover stories orchestrated by the Patriots details that Arsenal was actually a new form of environmental control and clean up facility that was disguised under the Big Shell. Mass manipulation of the media and other sources is readily apparent. If they can conceal this mess, I wonder what else they can hide? _

_The crash was blamed on an anarchist terrorist cell, aptly named 'Sons of Liberty'. They wanted 1 billion dollars in cash or they would take down the top-secret plant. Apparently, the mobile facility crashed after a large amount of infighting from the terrorists. The resulting crash left them all dead, including their leader. Patriot forces immediately recovered Solidus' body in order to prevent a massive scandal. All claims that the leader was actually the former president were discounted, and their advocates discredited. _

_The story that followed a result was that the terrorists took control of the facility while the President and other VIPs were touring it. I guess a little truth thrown into the deception makes it more palpable. The resulting takeover led to the deaths of the President, Richard Ames, the SEAL teams sent in, and the unreleased identity of a hostage. Stillman's death was explained that the SEAL teams needed an expert on bomb diffusion, and was captured and executed by the terrorists once he was found._

_ A surviving member of the SEAL team, using a chopper that was stolen by the terrorists, accounted for the hostage's rescue. They even had a SEAL ready to take the credit for it in the end._

_After the crash, the navy reclaimed Arsenal and put it under heavy guard. With effort, I am sure the Patriots can easily get it back into their hands. It's discomforting to know that their digital tyranny can be rebuilt with adequate time and effort, but we intend to stop them before it ever reaches completion. I think it would be hard to find a programmer with your intelligence. _

_Anyway, after the crash, Snake left Raiden to Rose. He doesn't expect him to be coming to hunt for the patriots with us. He has a family now, and a new life to start. More death won't help him lose the past._

_Leaving the two, we went to our hotel. There we found an unexpected guest. Meryl was waiting for us. She didn't seem to be sad, angry or even nervous. She was just hiding herself. I went up to my room, letting them talk. They really needed to catch up after all this went down._

_I didn't waste any time in getting to sleep. It had been a long mission, and an even longer day. It was a dreamless sleep, though restful. The next morning I had awoken to find Snake gone from his room apparently with Meryl, with a note under my door. It read:_

"Battery Park. Noon Today. Don't be late."

-S.

I guess it was strange to find a note like that from Snake, but I guess he needed more time with Meryl than I thought. I'd better head off; I have some things I need to take care of. Talk to you later, Emma.

**_-Otacon_**

_******_

Somewhere in the United States 

_2 days ago_

The sun began its leisurely pace of descending below the horizon, ending in a cascade of purples and oranges. The small spaces in between the blinds let the orange glow radiate around the conference room. Pictures of dead presidents hung on the walls, and the gleam of the lacquered oak desk shown in the sunlight. A man stood staring out the window, the unmistakable glass of bourbon never far from his hand. The ice swam in the amber like crystal in a blonde's hair. The old man took a sip, his black Armani suit stood ironed in all of its perfection. Not a wrinkle, fold, showed itself. A strange window to perfection.

Another man sat behind him. His shadow. He lay in an executive leather chair, the black leather nearly as dark as his skin. He was dressed casually, in black khakis and a dark green sweater.  He was clearly younger than the man holding the bourbon. His hair wasn't graying, nor did he have a wrinkle on his face. His black hair was neatly trimmed, as was his goatee.

"You have a bead on them?" The man with the bourbon spoke.

"Yes sir. We know their location."

The older man turned to the younger. "Put on Beethoven. Moonlight Sonata." He went back to staring out the window, sipping his bourbon.

The dark skinned man got up off of his chair and picked up a plastic remote lying lazily on the desk. It was obviously modified, with several extra buttons. The man aimed it at the wall and clicked it twice. The cabinet opened, revealing a state of the art stereo system. The CDs clicked to change, and the somber melodic tones filled the room. The younger man sat back down.

"You really should learn to listen to something else. Classical is outdated."

The older man scoffed, and took another sip of his bourbon. "It is the only thing left worth listening too. Its too bad no one composes anything new."

The dark skinned man took out a thin French cigarette and lit it, filling the room with the scent of mint. "We can have a musical discussion later. About business."

"Ah yes. Business. Your men?"

"On stand-by. The others have already taken care of cover stories." He took another puff. The music added to the prelude of action.

The older man took a sip of his bourbon. "Good. Everything is in place."

The dark skin man nodded. "Yes. It is."

"How is the digital flow about Arsenal?"

The dark skinned man sighed and lightly tapped the cigarette, a hint of annoyance. "Most concerns focus on the Illuminati, or an internal new world order. Even extraterrestrial involvement is quoted. The cattle just can't get it right, so it seems."

The older man laughs. "They always think its some form of new tyranny. Nothing ever goes back to the old orders. The old ideals." 

"Indeed." The darker skinned man turns in his chair, blowing the crisp smoke out of his mouth.

The old man sips his bourbon again, the ice dwindling down into the depths of the amber waves. "Have the operation go by day break. Now leave me be."

"Yes sir."  The darker skinned man got up out of his chair and pushed it back in. He quietly walked out of the darkened office into the hallway. The older man was alone with his music.

"They must learn…no one escapes their past. No one." He whispers, as the sun set, claiming the office for darkness in the country of liberty.


	2. Chapter 1: The Reckoning

_Battery Park, New York_

_Wednesday, 12:05 pm_

Otacon strolled leisurely through the park. The incoming summer months had brought an increased amount of warmth, as well as a return of wildlife. The squirrels chattered up into their trees, and an occasional rodent was seen dipping through the foliage of some of the bushes. Otacon cringed a bit when he saw it, not bothering to wonder why the city was strict in its sanitation policies.  A light breeze accompanied his stroll as he waited for Snake. He carried with him a small coke he had bought at a local McDonalds. He sipped from the plastic straw and looked around him. He had been raised a rather sheltered life in a wealthy family, not seeing much of the city. Not exactly a country boy, the city still amazed him, and he was easy to spot for a tourist occasionally looking up at the expanse of buildings. He almost forgot why he was there, until his watch alarm rang. He glanced at it. It read 12:10.

_Snake's late…he doesn't usually miss appointments. Especially when he made them._

Otacon thought about using the codec, but decided against it. Nano communications could be monitored, especially since their signals were clearly defined. Though they would be overlooked by all civilian sources, high tech military equipment could pick them up. And with recent events firm in mind, high tech surveillance would be in place. No point in making the world know that Solid Snake was still alive. He slowly began to pace back and forth, wondering what had happened. Was Snake in trouble? Had anything happened to Meryl? The questions fluttered through his mind. But he missed the most obvious one. It was a tiny red dot staring into his left eye. 

Otacon fell back in the nick of time as the sniper shot rang out, rippling through the air, slamming into the bushes causing a flood of pigeons to swarm up. Even worse, Otacon didn't hear a sound. A silenced sniper had a bead on him from a dozen possible locations. He burst off in a run, using zigzag patterns that Snake had taught him during his 'basic training' the year after Shadow Moses. The sniper couldn't get a head on him, but that didn't prevent the telltale plink of gunfire tracing his steps.  He huffed and moved, pushing past pedestrians, hoping that they won't be in the line of fire. Nearly getting into a fight with one man, he pushes him down and tries to keep moving on the cobblestone path. He can feel the bullets whiz past him as he continues his steps towards the exit. He turns and continues to move, weaving in and out of tables and leaping over trashcans. Elegant jumps mark his foot falls, with the strange on look of pedestrians. Though their questions are soon answered with the small destructiveness that the bullets cause. During his flight, he briefly thought of Wolf and her skill. He knew that the sniper wasn't as skilled, but was twice as determined. Forlorn love wouldn't save him in this situation. He saw the end of the park in sight; it was only a few more feet. To the fence and freedom. He jumped over the bushes surrounding it as he latched on to it, moving up it as a spider would. Though it wasn't fast enough. He could feel the bullet whiz through his pant leg, causing a slight flesh wound. He winced slightly, but leapt over the fence, dodging the sniper in the park. He walked casually up the block, into a crowded section of street, avoiding the sniper. 

He could feel the blood soaking in, the wet sticky feeling of life. He would have to get out of his current clothing if he wanted to stay relatively healthy. It was a set-up. Figures. How had they known where they were staying? He took the note out of his pocket. It was written in hotel stationary, with a black pen in fine handwriting. Which also raised the question, why didn't they kill him in his own room? Or capture him for that matter? It simply didn't make sense. He needed to get out of these clothes, fast. And get to a payphone.

Looking around, it didn't take long for him to see a GAP located nearby o the crowded streets. Increasing his stride, he moved as quickly as the pain in his leg would allow him. Which seemed to be growing by the moment. The bullet had hit him deeper than he thought. He needed to stop the bleeding before it became to obvious. Crossing the street he, got into the store. He picked up a hooded fall jacket, gray t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He paid for them and got into the changing room.  Taking off his old pair of jeans, he looked down at the wound in his calf. It was deeper than he thought. Ripping off a piece of material from his old shirt, he wiped away the excess blood and tied the fiber to it. Sighing, he got up and hobbled out of the store. 

Looking much less conspicuous, he quickly located a payphone with graffito carved into the handle. He inserted a quarter and rang the hotel.

"Pliesmann's. How may we help you?" The clerk's cheery voice sounded over the phone.

"Hi, uhm, did you deliver a message to room…" Otacon, forgetting his room, dug in his pocket and fished out the key. "Room 512?"

 The clerk went salient, and all that could be heard was typing over the keys. "Yes sir, we did. At around 3 am. Phone service was unfortunately unavailable to that room, so we had one of our bus boys bring it up."

"Thanks." Otacon hung up the phone, and walked to lean against the wall.

Why would they deliver a message to his room? Why not give one just to Snake's room? Unless…

Otacon ran up to the curb, and frantically waved a hand to hail a taxi. He needed to get back. And prayed that he was wrong.

******

_Pliesmann's Hotel, New York_

_Wednesday, 12:30 pm_

The elevator beeped three times, denoting the new floor. Snake and Meryl stepped out. Snake stepped out, wearing a leather bomber jacket, with black jeans and military boots. Extra bulk under his jacket could be mistaken for fat, but it was actually a form of high-grade Kevlar. It could even stop the cop killers, or 'green apples' as they were called. Meryl clutched his arm, wearing a military surplus jacket with a green t-shirt, complimented with camo pants and military boots similar to Snake's.

"You think Hal is alright, Dave?" Meryl asked. Using codenames in public was just too damn conspicuous. 

"He should be, I sent a message to his room around 12:45 last night." Snake responded, walking along the corridor. 

"Hmmm. Yeah, I guess so." Meryl cocked her head to the side, her flowing red hair coming down a little past her shoulders.  "How is he holding up? After Emma's death?"

Snake sighed. "He took it rough went it all went down. He sounded pretty good last time I checked."

Meryl nodded and gripped Snake's arm a bit tighter. She was afraid that she had lost Snake during the Big Shell mission. He had always informed her on his activities with Philanthropy, she had come on some of those missions as well. It scared the hell out of her that Snake went off without warning, but she was relieved he came back safe. I guess he was worried that she would get hurt on that one. And he had good reason to worry as well.

They came down the hall and reached Otacon's room, 512. Meryl knocked a few times on the door. "Hal, we're here!"

No response.

"Hal?"

No response.

Snake muttered a curse and slid his trusty SOCOM from his jacket. It was outdated since he had first used it on Shadow Moses, but it had brought him luck. And he would be damned if he would upgrade any time soon.

Meryl mutters to Snake, "You have a copy of his key?"

Snake shook his head slightly, lowering the suppressed SOCOM. "We can't call the manager for the key. Can you pick it?"

Meryl squinted and looked at the lock, analyzing it. She whispered back to Snake, "A new form of deadbolt. I don't think so."

Snake grunted lowly. Meryl bit her lip slightly, and turned the knob to the room. The door creaked open. Snake smirked at her. "Its always the obvious." 

He nudged the door open with his foot and quickly took position behind a wall. Looking across, Meryl was doing the same. She held out her powerful Desert Eagle, able to blow a hole in any living opponent that crossed her. Even with body armor she'd be able to break a few ribs. Snake motioned to Meryl, counting to three with his fingers. Her head bobbed in succession with his count, taking a breath with each number. Each second mattered. As the count reached zero, the both side stepped and whipped into the room, guns pointed at any number of opponents. Though they saw the little present that did greet them. On the bed was a canister, labeled 'Napalm' in wispy calligraphy, and painted on with a certain off white. It bore a US Army symbol under it, juxtaposition of cute and sinister. Though what was written, burned, into the fabric of the bed gave light to their dire situation.

_I wonder what kind of Snake are you? Are you a Salamander?_

"Move!" Snake burst off running; Meryl didn't need a command to start off after him. And he thought he had gotten enough bombs with Fatman. They always had to be fucking bombs!

They didn't even reach the end of the hall before the Napalm canister exploded.

******

The taxicab pulled in front of the Pliesmann hotel just as a rain of fire erupted from the fifth floor, spraying hapless pedestrians with flaming rubble of what once used to be a hotel room. Otacon instinctively flinched as the fiery wood and timber came crashing down like a rain of brimstone. He burst out of the cab and looked up. He didn't see any bodies fall to the ground, nor none were seen from the gaping hole in his room. He could hear the scream of the unfortunates that were injured by the blast. Whoever was after them didn't seem to care about the individuals around them. Otacon immediately leapt out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. After the rain of fire ended, a small crowd had began to gather in front of the hotel.

Otacon ripped his hands into his scalp. He had gotten there too late. He hoped that Snake wasn't a burning corpse lying on the carpet of his room.  Looking around the crowd of people that had now gathered, he didn't notice that his taxi had drifted away. He didn't see them, so he ran into the lobby.

Pushing several people out of his way, including several beat cops, he rushed up to a clerk and shouted a question at him before the cops could drag him off. 

"Did you see a man come down from the fifth floor? Before the explosion?" The beat cops began to drag him back, throwing curses at him as they tried to pull him away.

The clerk shouted back. "Get this guy the hell out of here! No reporters!"

Otacon punched and wrestled, attempting to get back in. Though the beat cops had cordoned off the area. The wail of fire engines could be heard in the distance. 

"Dammit, Dammit, Dammit…" He muttered consecutively under his breath, as he started to pace across the street. He hated these moments. Why did he always have to be the survivor? Just bad luck…__

"Otacon…" A familiar voice called out to him as he took a step on the asphalt. He quickly, and as inconspicuously as possible drew back and walked toward the alley. 

He peered in and saw Snake and Meryl. They were covered in soot from the smoke, and dark crimson was coming from Snake's left arm. His jacket was torn up at the back, though Meryl seemed to be unharmed, just wet and winded. Her bright green eyes shown through her dirty skin.

"Are you two alright?!"

"Yeah, we're fine. The sprinkler systems kicked in before the fire could spread too far." Snake coughed, inhaling a bit too much smoke. His head jerking down, he glanced toward Otacon's leg, noting the blood soaked bandage. 

"What happened?" Snake commenting on the bandage, flicking his finger downward towards it. 

"Oh, this…" Otacon looked down towards his leg. "We can talk about it later. What happened up there?" Otacon turning and pointing toward the gaping hole in the fifth floor.

"A canister of napalm went off in your room." Meryl chimed in. "The napalm wasn't high grade. Usually it would be a fast burn, most of the building would have gone up."

"Everything plotted for show…" Otacon stated sourly. He briefly thought about the things in his room. Luckily his journal wasn't in there, he had forgotten it at the safe house. Forgetfulness was a virtue after all.

Snake nodded. "Everything seems thought out to every detail. They didn't know my location, so they removed you from your room to get to me."

Otacon leaned back against the wall. "Ohh…"

Meryl coughed, spitting onto the pavement. "We should get back to the safe house, clean ourselves up. Take a breather from all this." Meryl wrapped her arm around Snake's good one. She clearly didn't want to begin a mission without first talking to Snake.

Snake nodded, "Lets head out." He turned to Hal.  "I've got a car stashed a few blocks away from here. Since you don't look like you were just doused with Napalm, could you go pick it up for me?"

Otacon nodded. "Sure." Snaked tossed him the keys, and Otacon caught them deftly. He walked slowly out of the alley as the crowd increased around the building, the police presence evidently being more hostile. As Otacon left, Snake and Meryl embraced each other, hoping that they would both make it out in one piece. New lives come at a price. Just how costly, Snake didn't know. This was new ground for him. He needed to find that price. He just hoped it wouldn't come at the expense of their lives.

******

_Somewhere in the United States_

_Wednesday, 11:09 pm_

A TV sat shining on a view screen in the conference room. Its digital luster shined over the conference table. All twelve leather seats were filled. All twelve sets of eyes glued to the set, watching the events unfold before them.

_Channel 2 News at 11_

_(Blonde haired, Blue Eyed woman sits in front of the news desk)_

_Cindy Kayman: An explosion ripped through the Pliesmann hotel this afternoon, blowing out a room on the fifth floor. Three people were killed, and dozens of others wounded in the blast. Sources say that the most likely cause is arson, but to what purpose remains to be seen. Marc Lewis is on the scene, what can you tell us, Mark?_

_(Scene cuts to report behind police lines. Police scurry around him)_

_Mark Lewis: Well Cindy, all I can say is that it looks like hell down here. With the big shell crashing into federal hall a few days ago, police are taking no chances here. The hotel is crawling with Military and Arson investigators wondering if this is backlash from the 'Sons of Liberty' incident. As you can see, room 512 is completely destroyed. Nothing is left of it at all._

_(The reporter points upward towards a gaping hole in the building.)_

_Cindy (Voice): Are there any indications that there might be a cell of the 'Sons of Liberty' on Manhattan?_

_Mark: The police are tight lipped about anything regarding the 'Sons of Liberty' or any such related organization. Our military sources aren't saying anything except they are keeping a close eye on our Nation's Metal Gear units. Back to you Cindy._

The dark skinned man raised up the remote and clicked off the television. Associated grumbles to be heard throughout the room. The man with the bourbon in hand sat next to the dark skinned man. He took a sip of the amber liquid.

"What the hell was that?" One of the twelve said.

"It looks like a major fuck up to me." Another growled.

Bourbon shook his head, "Gentlemen, please. It is a minor set back. For all we know, Solid Snake is dead. One less genetic nightmare left."

"I don't know." A voice from the back of the conference table perked up.

"We want a body. It's the only way to make sure." A man across the table said to bourbon.

Bourbon sighed. "We don't have any other leads on Snake. He was able to avoid our radar until he created Philanthropy. How long do you think he can hide from us now that he is back in the underbrush? With help I might add!"

The collective power brokers and manipulators grumbled. 

"You need to talk to your man. He's out of hand." A voice from the head of the table spoke up.

The dark skinned man pulled out a French cigarette and lit it, puffing on the smoke. "I'll talk to him. This won't happen again."

"We wanted a flachette bomb, to make it look like a botched assassination. The committee did NOT approve this." A voice from his right announced.

"Just be more careful next time, Gitanes." A voice from his left spoke.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we move on with phase two. Leave Snake dead for now. We have the child, he'll come to us." Bourbon stated confidently, taking a sip of his drink.

The other men in the room harrumphed and talked among themselves. Before anyone else could say anything, Gitanes spoke out. "My men are ready in France. There are no explosives involved."

"And the plan is clear to you?" A voice from the far right spoke.

"As crystal."

Bourbon nodded. "Well, that takes care of that gentlemen. All we have to do is wait. Our control will be assured."

The group collectively broke out in side conversations after the meeting was over. Bourbon turned to Gitanes, "You sure everything is ready to go?"

Gitanes nodded slowly. "Jefferson and his team is ready."

Bourbon laughed, "Jefferson in Paris, a nice touch indeed." Gitanes simply smirked ever so slightly. He looked out towards the silver moon and thought. Was Solid Snake alive? He hoped so. It seemed everyone had met the legend, except for him. Even if he wasn't. There were others he could play with…so many others. The art of manipulation was beautiful. He was so engaged in his thoughts, he missed out on the toast.

Bourbon raised his glass, "Gentlemen, to the old world order!" The rest followed suit, drowning their glasses of whatever drink they had chosen. Gatines simply sat in silence, and waited on news from Paris. 


	3. Chapter 2: C'est La Vie

Café Deux Magot, Paris 

_Thursday, 1:45 pm_

If there were any regrets leaving the states to come to France, there weren't any now. The crystal clear sky shown overhead in its radiant sapphire glory, the sidewalk café bristled with activity. Tourists were enjoying the sights of France, while the Parisians were enjoying there coffee and chatting with friends. Everything seemed so perfect. 

The man formerly known as Jack sat across from Rose on a curbside table. He was dressed casually, his whole demeanor changed since the Big Shell incident. He seemed more relaxed, and more open. A great weight had been lifted off of his chest, and he was finally free. Solidus was right. His death had freed him from the bonds that had held him in place to his past. He was free now.

Rose looked up at 'Jack', gently stroking his hand from across the table, "You chose a new name?"

He sighed and glanced to his far left. Paranoia was his best friend, watching his back gave him a sense of security. All he saw this time was a pair of tourists chatting with each other. His gaze turned from them to the sky, which seemed much more blue than normal. It was good to be alive. 

"I think I have one. How does Alex sound?" Alex smiled to Rose, putting his other hand around hers.

Rose smirked and gently pushed her chair in closer to the table, staring into Alex's eyes. "This Alex sounds like a real upstanding guy."

Alex grinned at Rose, "I'm just getting to know him, but he seems that way."   

Rose smirked,  "Are you sure this guy just isn't some jerk?"

Alex laughed, "Hey, come on."

Rose cocked her head and used a free hand to brush her brown hair out of her face. "One can never be too careful around new people."

"I know you'll like him."

"How can you tell?"

"Lets say I just have a feeling." Alex gradually leaned in to Rose, his hand left hers to cup her cheek. Their eyes met each other, her brown with his twinkling blue. The charged romantic spark between them could be felt for miles around. Alex gently turned his head to kiss Rose…when a tap on his shoulder alerted him to a waiter standing over his shoulder. 

Alex narrowed his eyes and fixed them upon the waiter. "Que?"

"Vous avez un appel téléphonique, monsieur." The waiter responded politely and brandished a glistening black cell phone. He caught the number in the screen. It read: (202) 890-6742. From the states? Strange indeed.

"Hello?" Alex stated curiously. Rose motioned the waiter away, who bowed his head toward her and turned off toward the kitchen.

**"Raiden."**  The voice was fuzzy and inconsistent. It was indistinguishable from male or female. It was computerized monologue. 

"How do you know that?"  Alex stood up in his chair, angrily. Fuck them! This was his life now! He won it!

Rose looked startled, "Alex?"

Alex growled and got back in his seat. Luckily, not that many of the patrons had noticed his outburst. He cracked his neck and listened to the 'voice' on the other end of the line. He'd have to play this cool. See what was going on.

**"I know everything. We know where you are. We know what you were."**

"Get to the point. Spare me the intimidation bullshit."

**"The point is you are about five minutes away from being dead. Don't ask any questions."**

"What?"

**"Just LISTEN."**

"And why the hell should I trust you?"

**"Listen Jack, don't argue. You now have three minutes to live. Want to press your luck?"**

Alex stood up and grabbed Rose's hand, she appeared to be very confused at the whole thing.  

"Whats going…" Jack cut her off with a motion of his finger, and she gritted her teeth. It was obvious that she didn't like being kept in the dark with such things.

**"Get out of the Café. Don't worry about the phone or your tab, just move."**

Alex growled and dragged Rose through the busy Paris side streets. It was crowded with shoppers and tourists. Alex plowed through them all, gripping Rose's wrist so tightly his knuckles were turning white. 

"Goddamn Alex, what the hell is going on?!" Rose struggled and squirmed as she was being pulled. Being dragged through the streets of Paris on some super secret mission wasn't what she had expected when she had booked the plane tickets. 

"Not now!" Alex yelled at her, while he was dodging the angry pedestrians he plowed through.

**"Ignore her for the moment. Go down the street until you see a small cigarette shop.  Stop there. You should be safe."**

The man on the other end of the line clicked off. Alex threw the cell phone down to the ground, shattering it in half. It was the easiest way to do things, those little bastards could easily have carried a tracking bug in it. He kept moving until his legs burned with acid. It seemed that pedestrians had gained a psychic collective and moved out of his way instead of the opposite happening. The cigarette shop came closer and closer, until he finally made it there. He breathed heavily, flustered from the run. Rose hadn't fared much better, her brown hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat and her cheeks deep red from exhaustion. It was no wonder that she wasn't happy. 

"Now….will you please tell me why the HELL you dragged me half way through Paris?"

Alex was still breathing heavily, so he held a finger up. "Someone wanted us dead."

Rose rolled her eyes. "So you trust an anonymous voice on the phone?! That's a beautiful idea!"

"He knew my name. Both of them. And he was calling from the states, area code 202." Alex leaned on the back of the brick wall, face still beaming read from the run.

"That's the area code for Washington…" Rose ran a hand through her hair. 

"What is going on…"

"I don't know. But I think we had better head out of Paris."

Alex nodded and began to walk off. "I second that." 

All Rose could respond with was a short cry. A man dressed in a brown trench was holding Rose's throat with an illusion of love. He had somehow sneaked up on them from behind. He made his movements as inconspicuous as possible. He was an expert at this. 

Alex started forward but the man stopped him. "Smart little boy, running from our little sniper point. It was good luck of you; we had your pretty blond head in the sight. But I'm afraid your luck stops here, child." He sneered.

Alex opened his mouth to speak, but the man stopped him again. This time by flashing a glint of a knife up against Rose's throat. It was hidden by his hand, but apparently Rose could see it. She instinctively inched away from it as far as she could, though her eyes seemed defiant of fear. She cringed but tried to maintain as steady a face as she could.  

"Lets play a little game." The man backed up with Rose against the wall, still beaming as happy as could be.  "You're going to be working for us. But if you chose not to, I get to make a little cut."

He gently stroked Rose's neck. "Here."

He began to move his hand from Rose's throat down to her stomach, rubbing it ever so lightly with his fingertips. "And here."

Alex narrowed his eyes to the white haired Frenchman, "What do you mean by 'us'?"

White head smiled. "I think you know."

Alex looked on helplessly as Rose was dragged into the small cigarette shop. Their eyes met for one last time before she faded away. The door closed with a hollow sound that resided in his soul. Their lives had been so perfect, yet every time they get time alone things such as this happens. Alex walked up to the glass and pounded on it. He was helpless again. Manipulated, coerced. You can't care for someone without marking them off as a casualty. 

He was tired of the games. He wouldn't let them have Rose. He tried the door, it was locked. He couldn't punch and chop his way through the glass frame; the area was too populated for that. He checked the lock. It was pretty simple, nothing too expensive or elaborate. Luckily for him, it wasn't a dead lock. He could easily pick it with minimal tools, which is just what he had. He took out a small pocketknife and toyed with the lock a bit, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. He managed to pull it off, hearing a satisfying click. 

He slowly pushed open the door into the cigarette shop. The smell of the different types overwhelmed him at first and his nose twitched, he resisted the urge to sneeze as he slowly closed the door behind him. The shop was extremely dark, even for this time of day. The light filtered through the windows created a yellowed haze that permeated the cramped shop. There wasn't any sign of movement or disturbance. It seemed that the shop was completely empty. Where the hell had they gone? It seemed that they had disappeared from the shop all together. Then something caught the corner of his eye. In the far back it appeared to be a body. Alex readied himself and slowly approached. Anything could happen in this situation, and he was ready.

Upon reaching it, a sickening realization occurred to him. It was Rose. He quickly turned the body over to his side and looked at it. Her cold, listless eyes stared back into his. Once full orbs radiated the void of death, her mouth was slightly open, as if she called out before her death. Her neck looked like it had been broken. Everything was so neat, so orderly in death. Each item catalogued and filed, it was a veneer of peace over the hurtful chaos.

There was nothing he could. He was absolutely powerless to stop the action. He was strong, but at the same time he was weak. The fact was enough to drive him to the brink of insanity. He ran his hands through his hair, and dug his nails in his scalp, hard enough to draw blood. The stinging pain wasn't enough, the self-destructive urge carried much more than small cuts on top of his head. Even this desire was denied from him. He cried out in a scream of anguish and swept his arm along a table, cases of cigarettes and boxes fell to the floor.  Why did he kill her? Why did he have to feel this NOW when everything was so perfect?

He didn't have time to think, as a cascade of sirens sounded in the distance. Someone had called the cops. Everything had to be timed perfectly. Lifting himself up from the corpse of Rose, he wiped his wet eyes. The urgency of the sirens came loser and closer together; he forced himself to take one last look at her before he pried himself away. 

He slowly walked out of the shop and out onto the crowded street. Life had always dealt him the hard blows. From a war in a country that would never see peace, to manipulation on the big shell, and now lost love in Paris. Raiden the eternal orphan. He wouldn't let this go unpunished. He would destroy them all. 

How do they say in France? 

C'est la vie.

_******_

_A lonely street, Paris_

_Friday, 3:30 am_

The street was quiet, the slick rain and downpour had seen that any nightlife would be drowned in the downpour. It obscured the lone man on the sidewalk from any notice out of the apartment buildings. His white hair had turned gray with the downpour, and he nervously tried to light a cigarette that hung in his mouth. His damn Zippo wouldn't light, and he cursed under his breath. It just wasn't working out for him. He heard a noise near him and he jumped. The cigarette fell to the ground. The shadowed figure stood in the darkness of a nearby alleyway. 

"Oh…its you." The man responded slowly.

The shadow said something; he lit a cigarette and brought it up to his mouth. He let out a small puff of smoke.

"It went off without a hitch except…I'm…I'm sure you've heard…"

The shadow nodded, and puffed some more on his cigarette, the black smoke curling up into the night.

"I…I was only doing what I was told! According to the briefing!"

Again the shadow nodded. He talked some more in hushed tones. He took something out of his pocket.

"Please! You have to understand!" He got on his knees and begged. 

The shadow chuckled. It wasn't everyday you get a grown man begging in front of your knees. He decided to watch him grovel a little more.

"It was an accident! I didn't mean for it to happen!"

The shadow nodded, he puffed on his cigarette some more. He muttered something low and sinister.

"What…what do you mean I served my purpose? That wasn't the plan!" He jumped up, staring at the figure. His eyes opened. Now he knew why. He took off in the opposite direction from the shadow.

He didn't make it. The sloshing of puddles followed his burst of speed and inspiration. Though the silenced shots rung out, they pierced both his calves. He fell to the ground in a heap. The clear water began to turn red and he dragged himself along the Paris Street. His pathetic moans and groans couldn't be heard over the downpour. 

The shadow cam behind him close. His hollow steps haunted the man's ears to the very depths. He heard him stop. He was behind him. Slowly turning to look up at the shadow, he mumbled something quickly cut off by rapid silenced shots to the head. Taking a few puffs of the cigarette, the shadow turned and left.

The man known as Jefferson lay in the pools of bloody rain, waiting for the morning.

_******_

_Somewhere in the United States_

_Friday, 11:00 pm_

Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata hummed on the small speakers to the empty office. On the desk was a glass of Bourbon, the ice long melted, it remained untouched. The office had all the class and charm of its owner. Everything neat and orderly, perfectly arranged. Except for one thing.  A card from the Rolodex on the desk had been carefully removed and positioned in front of the laptop setup. The delicate curves of the calligraphy decorated the card, its simple finesse appealing to even the most deadened Aesthetic senses. The literature on the card read:

**_Café Deux Magot_**

**(33) 874.62.20.58**

The card to the French Café lay innocently on the desk, purpose and intentions aside, a perfect item for conspiracy.__


	4. Chapter 3: Shadows and Silence

_Upstate New York_

_Saturday, 11:30 pm_

Snake walked along the Forest's edge. Everything was quiet up here, it was so peaceful, and he wondered if this is what death was like. He looked up at the navy sky, seeing the thousands upon thousands of pin pricks of light that shown from many miles away. _Some of those stars are dead._ Snake sighed and shook his head; they could shine long after they were dead. Actions effect life, progression, and reaction. The effect of a life couldn't be truly seen without the progression to death. Who would cry? Who would care? Snake grumbled and shook his head, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It made him think of what he wanted out of life. The only thing he knew about life so far was actually death. How much had he actually lived? Snake rubbed his temple. He had always thought a civilians life to be boring. But being in a constant Tom Clancy novel made conspiracy more than tiring. After this, maybe he could finally have some peace, if everyone…

Then a noise, Snake turns quickly to face his opponent behind him. But it only turned out to be a familiar face.

Meryl grinned at him, "I didn't think you'd be much of a star gazer." She brushed aside a strand of fiery red hair and sighed.

Snake looked at her, cocking his head. "I was just thinking about some things, that's all."

She walked up to his position and leaned on an old oak that had rooted in the ground for a while. "Oh? Usually that's not good before combat. It could distract your thoughts."

Snake smirked. "Consider it an early onset of senility."

Meryl laughed a bit. "Come on, you're not THAT old," She tapped her fingertips on the bark of the rotting wood, some small pieces fluttering off onto the forest floor. "Besides, you're not serenading us with old war stories yet. So, I think you're pretty safe."

Snake nods thoughtfully. "Ghosts of dead men anyway. They aren't worth re-telling."  He glances up at the sky.

Meryl furrows her brow. "What's wrong? You're troubled by something." She moves forward towards him.

"It's nothing."

"Don't lie. You might be a good warrior, but your political skills are lacking."

Snake sighs, planting a hand under his chin.  After they stand in a long silence, he finally breaks it. "Completion of life in death."

"Philosophy? Now that's a side of you I haven't seen before."

Snake shrugs, "Some warriors have been philosophers as well."

Meryl puts a hand on his shoulder. "Don't even think about dying yet. We still have one last job to do."

Snake puts his hand over hers. "I hope so."

Snake turns and holds her in his arms, the quiet of the forest all he needs right now. His hands drift over her back, and she lays her head on his shoulder. Meryl's fiery red hair lays nestled on his shoulder, and Snake can feel her fingers gently etching into his back. He slowly closes his eyes, surrendering to the embrace. The light of the past drifts over them, wanting this all to be over. To be forgotten. Then maybe, just maybe, they could have some peace…

******__

_Upstate New York_

_Saturday, 11:40 pm_

Otacon slowly careened the car down the winding roads of upstate New York. The twin eyes of the headlight bore fire onto the pavement, igniting leaves and twigs that covered it from the towering giants that they fell from overhead. Otacon occasionally glanced into the rearview mirrors to check if he was being followed. He sighed with relief as he noticed he wasn't, ditching a pursuit in unfamiliar territory. He had left earlier in order to collect supplies for the group, essentials they might need such as food and water.

He picked up speed a bit, and glanced at the meter. He didn't want to go too far above the limit, for getting a ticket right now wouldn't prove to be very helpful in guaranteeing the success of the op. He kept a stone face and continued on his path. He couldn't think too much. He had to focus. There was much to be done in the future, and he couldn't let his mind simply stray with his personal ethics.

After what seemed an endless amount of driving, Otacon finally reaches his destination. It was a small cabin nestled in the woods, out of sight from all other distractions. He shuts the car off, twisting the key. He gets out, gathering the packages from the trunk and slowly makes his way up to the cabin door. He knocks twice, as per the code. A moment passes, for paranoia's sake, as he is let in. 

Snake backs up away from the door, dressed in a smoke gray sweater and black pants. Meryl sits not far away from him, wearing a worn leather jacket with blue jeans. She sits reading a dog-eared Tom Clancy novel, with her weapon sitting not too far away from her.

Otacon nods to Snake, setting the packages on a table in the center of the room.  The windows around the cabin are covered with heavy shades, to prevent the light from getting out and any snipers to not have a clear shot. 

Otacon pushes his glasses up farther along the bridge of his nose, flicking a finger to Meryl, "You read that? Don't you get enough of it in reality?"

Meryl continues reading, her green eyes set on the text she holds in her hands. "Its interesting reading about this stuff in fiction," She flips a page. "You never know how it is going to end. Just like our situation."

Otacon shakes his head. "I guess the public just enjoy their conspiracy theories."

Snake lays on the bed, taking a Lucky Strike from an open carton on the nightstand. He slips his hand in his pocket for a match, lighting it and placing it against the cig. He takes a long drag of the unfiltered tobacco. "They aren't too far off from the truth."

Otacon nods, dragging a seat out to sit down as he organizes the supplies. Meryl speaks to Snake without looking up from her book. "You know those things can kill you."

"Yup."

"Then why do you smoke them?"

Snake shrugs. "It takes the edge off sometimes. Anxiety and excess paranoia can be dangerous."

Meryl nods to him, then she winces as she turns the page. She brings a finger to her mouth and sucks on it. "Anxious about the mission?" She licks it once more, before putting it back to the page and turning it.

"Always." Snake smiles as she gets the paper cut. "Be careful, some books are dangerous."

Meryl simply mutters an, "Uh-huh" before she turns the next page of the book. 

Otacon finishes setting out the supplies on the table; he wipes his hands on the legs of his pants. He turns to Snake as he is tapping his cigarette ash into a nearby cup. "I found something new on the disc from arsenal."

Snake turns to him with interest, crushing the cig out in the cup. Meryl drops her book onto the table and looks up towards Otacon. He drags a seat from the table, to get closer to them. He continues on, "The 'names'  of the patriots aren't names at all. They are a coded message to a location."

Meryl raises a brow, "Why would they put that information is Arsenal's memory storage?"

"Why would they put names of people who have been dead for over a hundred years to be removed from a system?" Otacon shakes his head. "It would just remove names that have been on digital storage for a long while. It makes people suspicious."

Snake nods. "Suspicious people can do a lot of damage. It's easier to remove locations no one would think of then to erase known knowledge already established on the system."

Otacon nods. "Exactly. If what we've found is correct, they've stored a base of technology and surveillance that can't be easily moved."

Meryl rubs the back of her neck. "Their weakness is that they're not nomadic, they've had to establish a dark tower."

Snake looks to Otacon. "And how did you figure all this out?"

Otacon shrugs. "It was a small anomaly that attracted my attention, something not right in the code that I had to check."

Meryl grins. "Paranoia, the sign of perfect mental health these days."

Otacon rubs an eye, "Well, I'll have to actually decode the location, so it might take some time. You two relax while I work this out, alright?"

Meryl nods briefly to him, "Good luck." She gets up and walks over to Snake, sitting on the bed next to him. Otacon waves a hand at her as a sign of thanks. He unpacks his laptop and starts it up, attaching his battery packs to it, giving it a full twenty-four hour support before needing to be unplugged. He sighs and pops in the disk, looking to his Emma journal. It spurred on flashes at an unexpected moment. He had to keep it together. Losing himself now wouldn't help anyone. He concentrated on the code, on logic. It was the only thing that made sense to him anymore. He breathed shakily and started to decode. He'd write another journal, that would calm him. But…what good would it do? He sighed, punching in keys. The answers were lost to him; he quickly lost himself to the code. He'd reflect later. Now it was time to find their next step, and bring down the conspirators.

******

The Streets, Chicago 

_Saturday, 10:55 pm_

Raiden walked the streets of Chicago, arriving on any available American flight as soon as the crap went down in Paris. His head down turned, looking at the puddles that formed on the street below from the rains of the previous nights. The whole city took on a misty appearance, as the fog had started to roll in. Raiden sighed to himself and shook his head, passing by the many decaying buildings on his route to nowhere. He didn't know what to do next. He was looking for revenge and didn't know where to deliver. Rose was dead, just when he thought they had found a new life together, with a baby on the way. Raiden gritted his teeth angrily and kicked a puddle, sloshing up water over his clothes. He fell against the wall of a nearby building for support. He refused to let himself cry. He would keep his hatred. He would store it, and then unleash it. He would move heaven and hell. And that was a promise. He ran his hands through his pale blond hair. Blue eyes blazing angrily, he would have his vengeance.

Pushing himself up, his cell phone rang. Instinctively answering it, even in his grief. The garbled voice from Paris didn't give Raiden a chance to say hello.

**"Am I talking to Alex? Or am I talking to Raiden?"**

"Raiden." He says it simply and curtly, not allowing any room for emotion.

**"Good. You're in Chicago, correct?"**

"Yeah."

**"Keeping it simple. I see you've been thinking. That's good."**

"Would you get to the point?"

**"I have a proposition for you. I'll tell you where your enemies lie."**

"Oh yeah? And why are you feeling so god-damned generous?"

**"I want to free the world from their evil. You want vengeance."**

"So, I'm just being used as a pawn?"

**"We would be using each other equally. Consider it Utopian."**

"Right. You give me the info to kill them and I do it. Information for death. And both goals are reached." Raiden runs a hand wet with rainwater through his hair. It comes to rest behind his head.

**"Precisely. Do you want the information, or not?"**

Raiden sits silent for a moment, closing his eyes. The image of Rose's body fresh in his mind. He knew that scene would never leave him. The ghastly sight, a life still born. Like his child…

"Alright. I'm game."

**"Excellent."**

The voice on the phone proceeded to tell him everything, the proverbial little birdie on the shoulder. Everything was going according to plan.

******

_Somewhere in the United States_

_Monday, 12:03 am_

The moonlight sonata played over on the stereo. The office was vacant, except for the dark skinned man sitting in the plush leather chair. He sat in the opulent chamber, glancing around periodically never before having seen the office Gatines sat in Bourbon's chair. The light from the fluorescent bulbs reflected off of his black skin. As with the older man, nothing on him was out of place. Not a hair on or a wrinkle in his business suit. He gently tapped a tape with a piece of paper. His brown eyes looked up to the door just as it opened, as if his expectations were instantly carried out. Two suits enter the room, looking at Gatines for some sort of explanation.

The first one speaks. "We are very busy."

Then the second one. "This had better not be a trivial matter."

Gatines lights a cigarette, the mint smell flowing through the room. He gets up slowly, stepping across the office floor slowly. He idly strokes the black cylinder of the cigarette, in thought. "We have a situation."

The first suit raises a brow. "Situation?"

Gatines nods to him, tossing them both the slice of paper and the tape. "The fuck up from Paris and disclosing classified information has been done by one of our own."

The second suit scratches his forehead. "How did you come across this?"

Gatines takes another drag off of his cig. "I've been monitoring him since the incident at the hotel in New York."

The first suit nods to him. "Intelligent."

The second suit shakes his head. "He will have to be culled. The damage is already done."

Gatines nods to him, taking a deep drag off of his cig. Blowing the smoke out into the confined room. He slides over a crystal ashtray on the desk, tapping out some ash into it.  "Unfortunately it is. This rouge agent could prove a major problem, considering his performance at the big shell."

The first suit nods. "Yes, though our guard cannot be reinforced."

Gatines rubs the back of his neck, grumbling. "Troop specialization with smart tech and Metal Gear Ops in Arizona. I know."

The second suit nods. "This could have only come with internal knowledge. We do indeed have a leak."

The first suit speaks. "Thanks to your information, we know who it is."

Gatines nods to them both. Taking a drag off of his cig, letting the smoke linger in his mouth for a few moments before exhaling. "I trust you know where he is."

The second suit nods his head in agreement. "We do."

"Good, set me up an operation date. I want to retire this one myself."

The first suit nods. "I knew you would like a part of this one."

The second suit nods after the first. "You were always one who liked to be a part of the action."

Gatines crushes the cig out in the silver ashtray, slipping the contents of it into the wastebasket by the desk. He wipes his hands together, "Old habits die hard. Thank you for your time, gentlemen."

The suits nod at the same time, the second speaking for the both of them. "Thank you for your time Gatines." They walked out in single file, shutting the door behind them. 

The moonlight sonata soon came to an end on the stereo, Gatines closed it up and off. He wondered how the introduction of Raiden would affect the grand conspiracy. It was an interesting concept. He slid through Bourbon's desk, taking out his favorite glass, and a bottle of his favourite drink. He slowly poured himself a glass of the amber liquid, slowly filling the glass. He took a small sip it, scrunching his face up in disgust. He took the bottle and plaintively dropped it in the trash, as with the glass. Shaking his head, he stood up, pushing his chair into the desk. Gatines rubbed the back of his neck, and slowly started walking out to the office door. He smelled blood, and the hunt was on. He briefly looked up to the American flag that was positioned behind the desk. This would be a true country of liberty. Soon, Very soon. Gatines flicked off the lights and shut the door, leaving the office in darkness.****


	5. Chapter 4: Loose Ends

Somewhere in the United States 

_Monday, 1:45 am_

The darkness still absorbed everything in its firm grip, and the city streets contained sidewalks seeped with rain and puddles from the night past. The clouds drifted lazily overhead, sapping the gentle light from the moon, and the star's good graces held over by the cities' bright lights. Out from the silence came a car, cruising slowly through the street. It slowly came to a halt near a dilapidated building, noxious fumes sputtering out of the muffler. Bourbon got out of the car, leaving it running. He gathered his trench coat close around his body, as if he was really cold on the warm night. He glanced around conspiratorially, as if there was someone watching him. It was painfully obvious he was not accustomed to being seen in these parts of the city. He sighed and knocked three times on the door in front of him, as a sort of pass code. The door opened slowly, and revealed Gatines in a customary black suit. A few patriot operatives lay in the room across the street from them, watching his progress.

"We have visual contact, what's the status?" One operative looked out the window in his binoculars. 

Another military man typed on a keyboard set up on a table. "They're engaged in conversation." 

"Can we turn up the volume?"

"Sorry sir, the controls aren't in place."

The officer in charge growled, adjusting his beret. "Let me see the video then."

A button was pushed, and a small black and white screen popped up on a vid monitor. Gatines and Bourbon circled each other, speaking. Gatines stood in formal military position, coolly talking to Bourbon. Bourbon didn't seem too cool about it. He waved his hands erratically, his trench coat billowing behind him like a cape. It was this that made Gatines break his composure. He broke his military like stance jabbing a finger at Bourbon, his perfect white teeth biting the black and white camera.

"Shit, can we get some fucking sound?" The officer glanced around. 

"Stated previously sir, the equipment is not in place."

"Godammit." The officer paced, glaring at the screen, not taking his eyes off of it even while he was speaking. "Do you have the men on stand by?"

"Yes sir, they are ready."

The officer gritted his teeth and turned his attention back to the screen. They were both arguing and hurling what seemed to be insults. The situation elevated until Bourbon pulled out a gun and blasted three rounds into Gatines chest. Then shots sounded in the night and coincided with the video. His eyes and mouth went wide and he slumped into Bourbon, grabbing onto him. Bourbon kicked Gatines off of him, leaving his body on the street. Bourbon ran into his car and peeled out of there.

"Move, move, move!" The officer shouted, but he didn't need too. Men were already grabbing their weapons and heading out the door. Some even got close enough to fire shots at the car, shattering the glass of the back window. It wasn't enough to stop him, the car was long gone.

The officer removed his beret and hurled it onto the ground. "Fuck!" He ran a hand through his hair and cursed again, kicking a puddle.

"How the hell are we going to explain this to the council?" A soldier asked the officer.

The officer shook his head, and turned to the grunt with his gray eyes shining with fear. Apparently for the first time in a long time. "I don't know. So help me God, I don't know."

Someone grunted from the far left of the officer. The officer turned, and blinked his eyes. "Sir!" He ran over to Gatines, who was peeling off his ruined shirt and jacket, displaying bullet holes. He thudded a fist on his vest, coughing. He spit blood onto the street.

"I have it taken care of."

"How so? He got away, sir. The council will consider that a failure."

"I will take care of the council, and make sure you have a home to go to." Gatines nodded to the officer in understanding.

The officer saluted, and Gatines entered a black car hidden from view.  In a few moments, the whole area was cleared. And by the time the cops arrived to check out the shots fired, even the shells were gone into the darkness.

*****

_Upstate New York_

_Monday, 3:09 am_

The bullets flew all around them. The rapid heat of gunfire, the only high that could be achieved in the middle of a large melee. Meryl popped off a few rounds, toward the attackers in black. She'd lost sight of Otacon only moments ago. Which meant he was either dead or worse. More rounds fired, and more bodies dropped. She hadn't seen Snake since this all started. Where was he? Was he…dead? She couldn't think of it. She wouldn't even consider the idea. Not now, not NOW! She attempted to dodge the bullets that flew, but the automatic weapons wouldn't be dodged so easily. The bullets shredded into her vest, and she twirled like a magnificent dancer. He green eyes became hazy and faded. She could feel every bullet. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt at all…death was wondrous.  She fell, and she new Snake would be with her soon. The fall was slow and graceful, all was silent around her. The screams of the dying or wounded, even the running foot falls. She could slowly feel the ground coming closer. But as she hit it…

Meryl woke up. She gasped for air as if she was a beached fish on a rough shore. She closed her eyes and forced herself to slow it down, a meditative activity she practiced even before the military. In, and out. _Calm down. Only a dream…dreams aren't real. Even if you die in them._ She wiped away her sweat-plastered hair from her forehead, to behind her head. She let out a deep sigh, placing her legs from under the covers onto them. Her pants she slept in came down to the knees, cut off from there. It would be very awkward to have to jump out of bed in a gunfight wearing only underwear. 

Meryl propped her hands behind her head and rested it against the wall. David's death wasn't something she liked to wonder about. It had been hard going between them since Shadow Moses, and it wasn't about them fighting. Opening up to each other was the hard part, and it had taken a few months to get them to really know each other. They had both lost loved ones before, and had set up barriers between themselves to prevent further loss. She was scared to death about losing him, and the main reason why she wasn't angry with him when he went to the Big Shell was because she had hacked into Snake's Codec transmissions. Though if she didn't have the luxury of a codec tap…

She sighed. It couldn't continue like this, and they both knew it. To maintain their relationship, they need normalcy. That's why they needed to fight the threat of conspiracy together. All lose ends would be cut this time. _I will have my life with him. No one will stop me._

Meryl brushed her hair behind her head and slipped under the covers, shutting her delicate emerald eyes, falling into a dreamless slumber.

*****

_Somewhere Over The United States_

Monday, 7:30 am 

Raiden sat in the recliner of the coach class airline. He stretched a little bit, putting his arms back behind his head.  The coarse fabric bristled against him, like electricity. He couldn't wait to get out of the plane and see some action. He had bundled his gear at the entry location, and the contact would take care of the rest. He placed a small picture of Rose on the dinner tray, he sighed and stared at it.  She was so beautiful, so young…life wasn't fair. But he should have guessed that one by now. All that he had now was bloodshed. He closed his eyes and shook his head. 

A well-dressed elderly gentleman noticed Raiden's discomfort he smiled a bit and adjusted his glasses. "So…what're going to the city for?" His voice was heavily accented in Irish, perhaps an immigrant from long past. Raiden brushed his blond hair behind his head.

"Going for a funeral," He sighed and took another breath, rubbing his face with his gloved hands. He took another breath and repeated, "Funeral."

"Oh," The man's expression suddenly turned downcast. "I'm sorry. I lost a grand child a few years back, he was a young lad too…he had the sweetest smile."

Raiden rubbed an eye and was tempted to say "Shut the Fuck up" but he bottled it away. He had so much use for it later. He just looked on at the man and continued to listen to him prattle on.

"…That's about the story with Jimmy, never did get over his son's death. What about you?"

Raiden leveled his piercing ice at the old man, "That's rather rude."

"Well, I'm told its part of the healing process."

Raiden sighed deeply and looked at the picture of Rose. He turned back to the man and plaintively shook his head. "I'm not ready to be healed."

The man looked to him and mouthed an "Oh." He quieted down with that, and the silver bird sailed lazily through the clouds.

*****

_Upstate New York_

_Monday, 8:53 am_

Meryl paced back and forth dressed in her civilian clothes, the thudding of her combat boots sounding across the boards of the tiny cabin. Snake stood across from her, back leaned against the wall with his flowing trench coat wrapped around him. He idly tapped his fingers against the wood of the wall. Otacon rubbed his face and temples, tired after a long night of decoding the location. Snake was the first one to speak. 

"What have we got?"

Otacon sighed, "A facility under the buildings that could easily be used for several different agencies."

Meryl groaned and rubbed her forehead. "You can't break in and then they aren't there, what the hell do we do? 'Oops, sorry, we thought the illuminati was here.'  That doesn't sound like a feasible excuse."

David nodded in agreement. "This isn't some darkened out hole in the middle of a tundra or an ocean. It's a municipal building in a major metropolitan area. You can't just go in shooting."

Meryl sighs. "On the upper levels anyway. We still don't know where the hell they are. Their Dark Tower is pretty ambiguous."

Otacon nods. "Yeah, there are several big offices and conference rooms.  The most isolated one is on the top floor." Otacon points, positioning his finger on the top of the laptop. The screen ripples like a prism with his touch.

Snake shakes his head. "We still don't know if they would be there or not."

Otacon nodded again, sliding his chair away from the table. "I know, that's why we'll need to undergo surveillance."

Meryl groans, "Yeah, but that sort of surveillance could take months, even years. They've been watching people so long they could probably take us out in the first week."

Snake replies to her. "I know, surprise is still our advantage here. They've never faced an attack of force. We can't risk it by them spotting us or being aware of our plans."

Otacon nods. "We'll have to study the diagrams in a more detailed manner, perhaps there is something that we've missed?"

Snake shook his head. "All air vents contain motion detectors, and security cards are needed for lower levels. Positive facial identification is needed to get into some of the more higher level areas."

Meryl sighs and rubs her forehead. "We'd have to hack in to disable all the security procedures. Do they have any outside lines going in?"

Otacon nodded. "Yeah, there are a few lines in the business offices. I bet they're hooked up into the data ports down below. Though we'd have to do it on site, not much room for error."

The morning sounds of the animals at play was shattered abruptly when the sound of tires pulling up was heard in front of the cabin. Snake ducked down, drawing his SOCOM, Meryl opted for her desert eagle, sliding close to the door. Otacon quickly shut the laptop and hit the floor, lying low. Snake's eyes darted to the windows, no red dots. They weren't giving away their positions whoever they were. Meryl looked to the door and walls, she knew that this place was flimsy enough to be shot up pretty easily. She drew a few breaths and tightened her grip. He knuckles went white in a matter of moments. Otacon briefly looked up from his prone position, his glasses slid slowly down the bridge of his nose, greased by sweat. He didn't move to push them back up on his face.  It remains silent, for a long while until a knock is heard. Once, twice, three times. It stops. Otacon jumps, Meryl and Snake do not move, they stay deathly still. Snake glances towards Meryl, nodding once in order to indicate that he is going to open the door. Meryl slides back along the wall in order to gain a good angle to shoot. Snake crouches along the wall, pacing each step carefully. He puts the pressure on his toes and not his heel, making sure to carefully lift his foot and not slide it along the floor. He takes in a breath and slowly lets it out. His hand reaches for the glimmering brass doorknob. He motions, 'one, two, three' before he throws the door open, hitting the face of the man that stood in front of it. Snake whirls out of the corner and points his gun in the man's face, who is sprawled out into the dirt. 

Snake's cold brown eyes focus on the man. "Who the hell are you." His voice leaves it much more as a demand than a question.

Bourbon stares angrily at Snake, he brushes himself off, fixing his almost perfect-suite. "Is that anyway to treat a guest?"

Snake hears Meryl, adjust her position, and he moves accordingly to enable two guns trained on Bourbon. "You weren't invited."

Bourbon grins like a shark, not caring about the two guns pointed at him "Oh, I have a proposition you will find very tempting."

Snake keeps his gun trained on him, "What kind of proposition? I don' trust magically appearing people."

"I don't think you have any particular choice." 

Snake narrows his eyes, looking at Bourbon. "Is that a threat?"

"Not at all. But it would be more beneficial if we work together on this one." Bourbon smiles to Snake in a predatory manner, he is definitely not looking too trusting.

"You want to break into the Dark Tower. I know how to do it."

"And who are you?" Snake leveled his eyes on him.

"Let's just say I'm a disgruntled former employee."

"And you think we would trust you so easily?" Snake kept the SOCOM leveled to his temple, the barrel making all the threats.

Bourbon grinned, "We've been tracking you for several days, we lost you around this area. It was a simple matter of finding a cabin."

Snake still looked at him suspiciously, he didn't say a word. He went through the possibilities of truth in his hand. Bourbon got more and more frustrated as it went on. "How likely is it that in order to get you they would send one unarmed old man?"

Snake sighed and lowered the pistol, but he didn't put it away. "Alright, we'll hear you out."

Bourbon nodded and smiled his predatory smirk as he stepped into the cabin. Revenge would be sweet and bloody, as it always was. It would be a good day for carnage, and that was just the way he liked it.


End file.
